


Plance A-Z

by Fairia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Monsters & Mana (Voltron), plance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23445394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairia/pseuds/Fairia
Summary: Plance-centric drabbles as dictated by the whims of The Conservatory
Relationships: Lance/Pidge | Katie Holt, Pike/Meklavar
Comments: 14
Kudos: 12





	1. A is for Ass (Ivy [AnchoredTether])

**1.0 Ass (Ivy [AnchoredTether])**

“I can’t believe you sat on the King!” Pidge hissed as they backed out of the room, hands loose and ready to summon their bayards. Her back was bent in supplication as they paced backwards towards the door of the hut and tried to avoid veering into a wall.

“I didn’t know that was ‘The King,’” Lance hissed back, fingers twitching into sarcastic air quotes as the angry mob started to slowly advance towards them, “I thought it was a chair!”

“Where have you ever seen a chair that looked like a person?” Pidge demanded as one guard raised their spear threateningly. “Oh, hey, no need for that, we’re just...uh, leaving now.”

“You are,” the King remarked, his voice gravelly and low and completely at odds with his tiny frame, “and you will not come back.”

“What if we sent Hunk?” Lance tried, knowing that Allura particularly wanted a truce with the small, four-legged race that inhabited this planet. Personally, Lance thought they looked like tree stumps and he shouldn’t be blamed for mistaking one as a seat, but… “Or Keith? He’s our leader, and stuff.”

An arrow flying past his ear was his answer.

“You ass!” Pidge shrieked, grabbing for her thigh holster as she straightened. “The Drquarians are a _plant-based_ sentient species! And you want to send the _fire paladin_ to them?”

“How is Keith the fire paladin?” Lance protested, summoning his bayard and laying covering fire as the arrows started flying. They were far too flimsy to penetrate their armor, but he and Pidge had left their helmets in the main room, and he didn’t want one of the guards getting off a lucky shot. “He’s in the black lion!”

Pidge waved her hand, and the vines that had been held back to create an opening dropped, obscuring them from the occupants within, though it did little to diffuse the indignant shouts. 

“If I throw a glass of water at Keith, he isn’t going to electrocute it,” Pidge snapped as they turned and ran past the startled guards and towards their helmets in the center of the ring of huts, displayed as past their diplomatic negotiations. “And if I throw a glass of water as you, it’s not going to vaporize. Besides, you’re wearing blue armor.”

“Fire can be blue!” Lance protested as startled villagers squawked, scattering in their awkward, shuffling gait on their too-short limbs as the much taller humans barreled past. “Besides, if I throw a glass of water at _you_ , all that will happen is you’ll get _wet!”_

Rolling her eyes, Pidge darted towards the branch-like construction that signified the main gate for the village. “If you throw water in my face, I’m going to wait until you visit Kaltenacker and choke you out with my vines.”

Lance blinked. “....Will I like it?”

“If we weren’t running, I would electrocute you!”

 _“You do realize we can hear you now, right?”_ Keith’s exasperated voice sounded over the comms.

As they darted through the gate, Pidge turned, pointing her fingers at her eyes then flipping them to point at the startled guards in a universal ‘I’m watching you’ gesture. The guards paused as they reached for their weapons. Satisfied, Pidge turned and darted for the Lions sitting further afield.

Lance chewed his lip, but didn’t release his bayard as he turned. “Water tribe,” he announced, throwing his arms up and offering the guares a cocky smirk. The guards blinked at him in what he assumed was an expression of confusion.“Lance!” came the exasperated as he sprinted behind Pidge towards the (relative) safety of the rest of the team. “You _ass!”_


	2. B is for Bandana (and several other things)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> B is for Bandana (and boisterous and banana and black and banter and bread and board and bland and bitch). I don't even know who was throwing out prompts any more: I think about half the server was in on it. Bunch of instigators.

**2.0 Bandana**

(and Boisterous, banana, black, brand, blinds, bat, banter, ballpoint, bicycle, bread, board, bland & bitch) (from **everyone** , probably)

“Man, those monkeys sure are boisterous.” 

“I don’t think they’re monkeys, Lance,” Pidge muttered, examining the dark, oddly-shaped fruit on her plate. Or, at least Lance assumed it was a fruit. “What is this again?”

“Tastes kind of like a banana,” Hunk said, chewing on a piece contemplatively. “It’s been cooked.”

“But why is it black?” Lance asked, poking at it curiously.

“Just eat it, Lance,” Keith muttered, sounding weary. 

Keith, Lance reflected, did not do well with dinner parties. Or parties. Or people, unless he knew exactly what to expect from them. Diplomatic events like these ones always seemed to drain him faster than usual, whereas Allura and Coran were sitting on his other side, chatting with a few dignitaries and very clearly thriving in the social environment. Shiro sat nearby, listening politely while one of the locals chattered in his ear.

Lance leaned back in his seat, enjoying the antics of the not-monkeys as they faced around the canopy. The celebration of their victory was being held outdoors, which Lance thought was a nice change from the normal dining halls and formal venues, and he estimated that several hundred citizens were in attendance. As the special guests, the Paladins were seated on a platform above the rest of the party, with the planetary leaders sitting amongst them. 

Trees ringed the clearing, branches stretching further than they really ought to and forming a loose weave above their heads. The not-monkeys were Lance’s favorite, but there were other creatures up there too, including something that looked like a giant dragonfly, but was brightly feathered like a parrot. 

“Enjoying the view?” Pidge asked, amused, from next to him.

“Yeah,” Lance grinned, chin tilting down as he looked at the green paladin, who was still prodding at her plate… Or what passed as a plate. Lance actually thought it was a bread of some kind; he’d seen people loading up food onto it, so they’d done the same, but then he also saw some people tearing it up to dip into a weird soup that was available, so now they were all officially confused. “But, not gonna lie, it’s a much better view now.”

“Flatterer,” Pidge said tolerantly, but her cheeks tinged pink with pleasure. Her dress was green and gold, modeled after Allura’s own garments, but with open sleeves and side splits in the skirt to accommodate her bayard. Leggings in a lighter green were worn underneath in a nod to modesty, but Lance just appreciated how much it showed off her legs.

“You guys are so cute,” Hunk said happily from where he sat, prodding his “plate” curiously.

“I’m gonna barf,” Keith muttered, rolling his eyes as he shoved some kind of sauce-covered meat into his mouth. “And it’s not because their ‘bread’ tastes so bland.”

“Maybe that’s why they’re dipping it in the soup…” Hunk muttered to himself, trying to tear a small piece off as he looked around for a bowl. Lance wished him luck; that crap was as stiff as a board.

“Yeah, well, I’d barf too if I was wearing that bandana,” Lance snapped irritably. “Where did you even get that?”

“Earth,” Keith replied haughtily. “And don’t mock my bandana — half the dignitaries here are wearing one, too.”

“Yeah, but it’s part of their culture,” Lance sniped back, “you just look like a rodeo reject. Wait— did you say  _ Earth?” _

“Yep.”

“Is that the same stupid bandana you used to break into the Garrison with?” Lance screeched.

“Shh!” Pidge shushed him.

“I didn’t break into the Garrison,” Keith frowned, looking oddly relaxed as the two bantered, “I broke into a tent  _ owned _ by the Garrison.”

“Oh, semantics,” Lance hissed, “you broke into the damn Garrison!”

“Will you two cut it out?” Pidge sighed, abruptly standing and dragging Lance to his feet after her. “Lance, there’s dancing. I want to dance.”

Lance allowed himself to be drawn away from the argument, but couldn’t resist looking back to Keith, who was making a face at him, eyes crossed while his ugly maroon bandana was pulled up over his nose. Maturely, Lance stuck his tongue out.

“Cut it out,” Pidge growled as she pulled him down the organic-looking stairs towards the open area where couples (and trios) were starting to congregate.

“He started it,” Lance protested.

“Are you six?” Pidge demanded, turning to face him and holding her arms out.

“Inches, and a bit more, yes,” Lance sniggered, mostly dodging the fist that aimed for his kidneys. “Ow, hey, I like those!”

“I don’t know why I even like you,” Pidge grumbled, but she settled as he wrapped his arms around her ribs, her hands linking comfortably behind his neck as they tried to find a rhythm for the odd music.

“Because I’m good in bed?” Lance suggested.

“I’m not even going to feed your ego by responding to that,” Pidge said flatly.

“Rude! Pidge, we have a  _ child _ , how can you say such things to me?” Lance gasped theatrically.

“Jeez, don’t say that too loud — somebody will hear you!” Pidge scolded, head swiveling to see if anybody was nearby and able to overhear.

“I thought Kaltenacker was our  _ daughter _ ,” Lance said, affecting hurt as Pidge glared.

“Kaltenacker is a  _ pet _ , not a child,” Pidge scolded severely. “Don’t give these people ideas!”

“Man, calm down,” Lance replied tolerantly, “if anyone asks I’ll tell them it was a joke.”

“You had better,” Pidge said severely, but let herself be soothed back into swaying along with the music. “Because with your luck it’ll get back to my brother and then you’ll  _ really _ have some explaining to do.”

“Oh man,” Lance muttered. He could just imagine the conversation if the Coalition got here and someone asked Pidge’s brother about his “niece.” 

The two swayed together, Lance just enjoying the simplicity of  _ dancing _ with his girlfriend — even if it was at a diplomatic dinner on an alien planet, and even if the music was weird and forgien, it was nice to do something so… ordinary, Lance decided. It was nice to do something so ordinary, for once.

“Is it because I get you peanut butter cookies?” Lance asked, pulling Pidge back in from an awkward spin as the music changed to something more upbeat.

“ _ Hunk _ makes me those cookies,” Pidge informed him loftily.

“Because I get you the  _ milkshakes _ to go  _ with _ the cookies?”

“Hm.” Pidge squinted up at him consideringly. 

“Because—”

“Sorry, I need this,” Keith said, appearing at his elbow and whisking Pidge into his arms.

“What? No!” Lance squawked, reaching for his girlfriend, but Keith spun her out of reach. Pidge, the  _ brat _ , just let him, laughing. “Get your own girlfriend!”

“Too much work,” Keith said over his shoulder, spinning Pidge out of reach as Lance tried to get her back. “And one of the Chellawn nobles is hitting on me  _ now. _ ”

“Then let her!” Lance snapped. They were starting to look like one of the trios out dancing, and suddenly Lance didn’t wonder if partner-stealing was a  _ Thing _ here.

“No,” Keith shot back testily. “I’ve been groped and hit on half the night.  _ You _ go be bait.”

“I don’t wanna!”   
  
“You like flirting, go flirt!”

“Pidge!”

“Have fun,” Pidge sing-songed, letting Keith guide her across the dance floor as the song shifted again.

“Son of a bitch,” Lance grumbled irritably, heading back up the dias to rescue poor Hunk, who had locals pressing in on both sides as they cooed over him. “See if I get you any more space peanut butter.”

“Lance! Hey, how was the dancing?” Hunk asked, looked relieved to see him.

“Keith stole my girlfriend,” Lance grumbled, flopping down at the table. The avian-ish race shifted gears, asking what a “girlfriend” was and exclaiming in dismay when he explained. Lance tolerated the attentions, knowing that the possibility of the green paladin’s ire made him (mostly) safe from unwanted romantic advances. As the two (probably) women chattered, Lance shifted, spying Keith’s ugly maroon bandana sitting on his chair.

Grinning, Lance shoved it into his armor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you haven't figured it out by now, I'd like to take a moment to tell you that I don't actually have a clue what I'm doing. These drabbles are kind of...brain busters, to help me take a minute to slow down (or get going). I'm culling prompts from a Plance discord server called The Conservatory, and prompts are just whatever word is thrown out that hits the ah-ha moment, or whatever ideas people are throwing out that sound interesting. Got a drabble idea? Let me know.


	3. C is for Confused (N1t3sh4d3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> C is for Confused (N1t3sh4d3)
> 
> What's this? A "Monsters & Mana" prompt? But of course!

**3.0 Confused (N1t3sh4d3)**

“I need your help.”

Meklavar looked up from her project, blinking as her eyes refocused on the man lounging in the doorway of the smithy, mobile ears twitching to pick up the sounds from the street behind him even as his eyes focused on her. 

“Yeah? What did you break this time?” she asked, straightening and rolling her stiff shoulder as she put the horseshoe aside.

“Break? Me? Mekky, I’m insulted,” Pike’s slouch against the doorframe deepened. Meklavar couldn’t see his face well, backlit as it was against the sunlit outdoors, but she could well imagine his pout.

“Call me that Mekky again, and more than your pride will be injured,” Meklavar snorted, reaching for the waterskin she’d set next to her chair.

“You always say the sweetest things.” Pike sounded amused as he pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the smithy where Meklavar had set up shop. “So can you help me?”

“I don’t even know what you want,” Meklavar pointed out, recapping her waterskin and setting it aside. 

“Nothing major, but I need someone who won’t ask a lot of questions and can get it done relatively quickly, but still with skill.” Pike glanced down at the horseshoe sitting, waiting for her attention. One clawed hand tapped against his hip, silver ring glinting on his forefinger as he did so. “And it would certainly be more worthy of your time than...that.”

Meklavar rolled her eyes. Sure, the mundane things were boring, but they paid bills and were steady, honest work. “Horses need shoes, Pike.”

“And you’re wasted making them.”

“I’m probably also wasted making whatever you want, too,” Meklavar pointed out.

“Undoubtedly,” Pike agreed with an easy shrug, lips quirking as he slid her a teasing glance out of the corner of his eye. “But you’ll still do it.”

“You don’t know that,” Meklavar grumbled, reaching for the pinchers sitting by the forge.

“Yeah I do,” Pike replied, turning to face her fully, eyes sharp and knowing. “Because you’re bored, and even if this is a waste of your talent, it’s something _different._ ”

Meklavar tapped her gloved finger against the pincher, lips pursed as she studied him. “What do you want?”

Pike settled against the bench, tail tucked carefully away from the forge, and told her.

Meklavar squinted at him in confusion. “You want...two bags.”

“Yes.”

“But not really bags. Basically two drawstring bags, with bronze bottoms,” Meklavar continued. “Shaped kind of like a goblet, but with no stem, and a coin-shaped cut-out on one side, and slits on two of the _other_ sides.”

“I drew you a picture,” Pike pointed out helpfully. 

“Also, they need to be bronze or copper colored,” Meklavar concluded.

“Yes.”

“Are you _mad?”_ Meklavar demanded.

Pike tilted his head thoughtfully. “I mean, possibly.”

“What the devil even _are_ these things?” Meklavar continued, ignoring the amused-looking thief sitting across from her. “Bronze-bottomed bags that won’t sit upright and look like stemless cups, but you can’t drink out of them because they’re full of holes!”

“Don’t worry about putting the bags actually in; I can do that,” Pike told her kindly.

“That’s not even my point!” Meklavar insisted. “My point is that you’re insane!”

Pike squinted at her. “And…?”

Meklavar threw her hands up in frustration.

“Do you want my coin or not?” Pike asked, still looking unreasonably entertained at her confusion, money held between two clawed fingers.

“Oh, I want your coin, and I’ll make your damned tippy-holey-cups, but I also want an explanation!” Meklavar hissed, snatching the required currency out of his hand and examining it. “And this better not be fake.”

“I would _never_ —”

Meklavar shot him a flat look.

“...to you.”

Meklavar snorted, slipping the coins into her belt pouch.

“So,” Pike said, rising and stretching languidly, “when can I pick them up?”

Meklavar purposefully didn’t look at the long line of his torso as he stretched, and definitely did not notice the way the forge fires cast his already-tan skin into sculpted bronze. “Tomorrow.”

“That quick?” Pike blinked down at her, surprised.

Meklavar shrugged. “Sure. We already have some ingots and such here, and it’s not like they need enchantments or anything. Come back tomorrow morning and see if they’re what you need.”

Pike nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good.” Meklavar nodded decisively. “Now, take your sticky fingers and get out of here, and leave an honest dwarf to their work.”

“My fingers are not sticky—I washed them after breakfast,” Pike quipped cheerfully.

“Steal anything from the smithy and you won’t have to worry about washing them ever again,” Meklavar retorted.

Pike’s laughter trailed out of the smithy behind him, clearly illustrating what he thought of her threat. Meklavar rolled her eyes, then her shoulders, and turned back to the drawing her erstwhile companion had left her with.“...Even if I don’t know what that work _is_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Besides, N1t3sh4d3's name is in leet!speek, so she's a giant nerd, too.


	4. D is for Dance (Fairia...yes, that's me.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D is for Dance (Fairia)
> 
> Meklavar got Politiced into attending a ball at a noble's estate, but is surprised to find a familiar face is _also_ attending...and probably up to no good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone spot the tippy-holey-cups?

“Would you like to dance?”

Meklavar, cup still halfway to her lips, was already turning to reply before her brain caught up with the fact that she recognized the voice, and that voice belonged to someone who probably wasn't supposed to be here, let alone _be here out in the open._

She nearly dropped the goblet in shock when she came face-to-face (well, face-to-chest) with Pike, who was wearing a dress, with an artfully done wig and kohl lining his dark eyes to bring the bright blue into prominence.

"What the hell...?" she asked faintly, gaping up at her erstwhile companion.

Pike reached out, swiftly plucking the cup from her lax fingers and deposited it onto the table before leading a still-stunned Meklavar towards the dance floor.

"Don't stare at me like that, you'll blow my cover," he chided. He grasped her hand (he'd even lacquered his talons, she noted faintly), but when she moved to put hers on his shoulder, he redirected her to his waist. "I'm the woman."

"We're both women," Meklavar huffed, but accepted the redirection, grudgingly leading Pike around the dance floor. "What are you _doing_ here?"

Pike smiled at her slyly. "Well, if you have to ask..."

"I probably don't want to know." Meklavar finished, nodding. "How did you even get in?"

Pike smiled prettily, expertly-lined eyes flashing as his reddened lips stretched wide. "I'm sorry, I haven't even introduced myself, have I? I'm Charice Itsalie, the visiting great-grand-niece of Theobald Kranvez from Ritgar. Since I was visiting my elder uncle, the good Duke kindly included me in the invitation."

Meklavar eyed him. "You made all that up."

"Of course I did," Pike laughed lightly as Meklavar spun them. "And poor Uncle Theo is ill this evening, so I came to represent him."

"You're going to ruin him."

"I will not," Pike replied. "Most of the people here haven't a clue who I am, and they don't care either. And since dear Uncle Theo is well-known as elderly and perhaps not altogether there any more, so nobody really cares that a crotchety old man stayed home and sent his pretty young niece out to find a nice husband instead. Or wife, whichever."

"Is that what you're doing here?" Meklavar asked, amused. "I rather hope you don't succeed, or your beau is in for a hell of a surprise on the wedding night."

Pike snorted. "Of course not. But the King has a particular fondness for elves, and when they show up, they show off. Really, I'm just relieving them of some extra weight."

Meklavar stared. "Where are you hiding—” 

"Besides, the real prize here tonight is Gregory Gartreel."

Meklavar stilled, and had to be prodded into moving again by Pike, going through the motions of the dance without really paying attention to the steps. "You're planning to rob _the_ premier jewelsmith of the Southern Mountain Region."

"Mm." The dance ended, Meklavar allowed Pike to lead her off the floor. "Not my fault that the Southern Dwarves have a rivalry with the Teskleon elves. And that they like to try to outdo each other."

“Gregory is a brute." Meklavar warned Pike, eyeing the delicate stretch of her kind-of-friend's neck trepidatiously. Not that she was well-acquainted with Gregory himself, but her father had several dealings with the man, and his preferences for violence were almost as well-known as his creations.

Meklavar opened her mouth to say something, but Pike cut her off. _"But_ , enough about me. I'm more interested in what _you're_ doing here." His eyes darted meaningfully around the small crowd of people gathered by the refreshments.

Meklavar pursed her lips. "Politics, I'm afraid. It would be rude to invite a contingent of local Southern Dwarves and ignore the representative of the much larger and richer Eastern Dwarves in the local smithy."

Pike slid her a puzzled glance. "Is that what you are?"

"Officially."

"That explains your clothing, I guess." Pike commented flippantly, swirling his goblet as he wandered away from the table, skirt swishing behind him.

"Hey!" Meklavar bristled as she rushed to catch up. "Unlike you, _some_ of us don't wander around with a trunk of fancy dresses. Besides," she sniffed, "if you can't tell the difference between silk and cotton, your ruse as the great-grand niece of a famous _silk family_ isn't going to hold up well."

"Luckily most people around me don't care about my ability to talk business," Pike drawled. He batted his startling blue eyes, brought into striking prominence by the kohl framing them, and puffed out his well-endowed chest meaningfully.

"Besides," Meklavar grumbled, "what I'm wearing is perfectly acceptable."

Pike eyed the filigree wrap coiled around her ear, which Meklavar knew was a match for the delicately-worked gold circling her neck. Both were studded with tiny wrought flowers with emerald leaves and sapphire petals, and she’d purposefully used the detailed workmanship to offset her relatively plain, pale green dress.

"Did you make that?" Pike asked. "Or is that a Southern creation?"

"I made it," Meklavar confirmed. "And if you touch it I'll snap your fingers."

Pike shit her a hurt look. "I wouldn't."

Meklavar glanced pointedly at his costume, then around the room. "And you're here because...?"

"Because I'm looking for a spouse," Pike sniffed.

"Right," Meklavar drawled. "Well, I can't in good conscience let you do that, sorry."

Pike grinned and nodded towards the dance floor. "Then I guess you'll just have to keep me occupied."


End file.
